This was a girl-girl thing

Our first meeting was what one might consider extenuating circumstances, ones that set the stage, foreshadowing the later unfolding of bed sheets. The camera zooms down from above, a tight shot focusing on our faces and then slowly retracting to a panoramic view replete with ionic pillars and curving stone arches lining a closed arcade . She and I were dancing naked in the twilight, amid a group of equally euphoric women, encircling a lighted font. The late August warmth persisted, despite the fact that the falling darkness began to prickle our skin, the cool of the fountain and many, too many of us, waiting in expectancy.

It could have been my fault. I suppose. I mean the shedding of vestments in such a short time. Perhaps the freedom came from my newness, from not knowing anyone, from ignoring how the system worked or how everything always got back, eventually. The cloisters seemed so private, so perfect, the moist green carpet of sticky-sweet grass muffling the sound of stepping feet, hands held, backlit bodies dancing, in circles around the central fountain, blossoms with dripping scent scattered carelessly about. We each dipped ourselves in the water in a rhythmic, cyclic pattern; some of the women recumbent and queen-like, overseeing the festivities held in their honor. She was the queen of queens, the one in the spotlight, and so I knew that she had to be mine.

She didn’t know who I was, but I knew that she was the president, the possessor of power, the one that everyone wanted, or wanted to be. I never imagined it would be so easy though, that she would fall, that I would suddenly be the one in control. I never imagined this as I kissed her sweetly on the cheek, trying to ignore the buzzing around her. I was the instigator, of course, but I also grew suddenly lonely and withdrew before my time had expired, before the stroke of midnight, before the couples dispersed, the circumstantial couples that linked for that one moment, perhaps never to be together again. But I left alone that night, shrouding myself in mystery, a cloak of loneliness thrown over my naked body, transparent and heavy all the same.

I did take note of the eyes cast in a warm, twinkling smile as I departed, the hand that lingered. There was hope, there was possibility. I had a story to tell when I got home, I had ideas and fantasies to fabricate. I practiced the art of willful thinking, casually wandering where I thought I might find her, lingering by the mailboxes, a glimpse caught at a repeating hour just outside the campus center, talking with her roommate, Eva, a lover? I wondered. I made myself ubiquitous, accidentally purposefully being where I thought she might go, just after class. A smile, a “hi” a visual appreciation, looking her up and down, and then letting my gaze rest, flitting away before it would be inappropriate to stare at her perfectly rounded assets. After a few weeks of this, and small talk, we shared a meal, and then more conversation. I procured tickets for a concert that I imagined she would like, I fretted, I assessed, I talked it out with my girlfriends. Should I ask her, would it be too awkward, would she say yes? I decided then and there that being a man must be the most difficult thing in the world, always being expected to make the first move, to take the risk. Here there were no men, and so the burden was on me, the one who wanted, the one whose curiosity outweighed her doubt. I craned my neck, and looked around, I held my breath, I dialed the phone. She said yes. YES! I couldn’t believe it. Was this a date, no it couldn’t be, would we go alone or with Eva? Were they lovers? no she wouldn’t have said yes, or would she? Oh.

We arrived early, but still in darkness. It had rained the day before, and the autumn leaves hung drearily, and lay in slippery amalgamations on the sidewalks and greens. The illumination of the theater was a welcoming home from the cool night outside, and we entered, still a little nervous, we sat, next to each other, not a seat apart, in spite of the relatively empty auditorium and the highly uncomfortable wooden folding chairs, holdovers from the fifties when the building was remodeled with its acoustic ceilings, and gracefully arching lines. We sat, huddled together, shifting, breathing girl breath on one another. “Is this a date?” she asked, older but suddenly seeming much younger than I. Aria was in my sights, I had her within an inch of me, and the envy that burned in the eyes of every one of the girls that said hello, tersely, as we entered, her arm grazing mine, was an electrifying sensation. “I don’t know, “ I let my fingers run up her forearm, hiding my smile behind a curtain of hair, “do you want it to be?” I observed the individual hairs perk as the goose flesh followed the line of my fingers. A sigh of pleasure escaped her lips. I leaned in closer, and she buried her face in my curls, her lips slightly opened and a tickle of wet warmth hinting at my neck. I leaned away, exposing a collar-bone, accentuated in the play of light and shadow of the dimming house.

So tonight was the night, it would be, I knew. Holding my breath, stomach tied in knots, muscles tightened in expectation, arousal already working its magic and the familiar heat rolling in electrical impulses from my fingers to her skin. The music ended in the blink of an eye, the fade out and in of the camera, and we were walking down the dark path to the blue-bus stop, waiting for the shuttle that would take us home. Holding hands, were we kissing? I think I enlaced my fingers with hers, and tipped her head back following the curve of her neck, along the chin to the expectant mouth, our tongues intertwined, saliva commingled, and the minty gum that she had shared, a fire slowly sparking, hands tickling and teasing. Her gaze locked on mine, the bus pulled in and we were practically unaware of our surroundings, we climbed the stairs with the excitement jittering, the bus rumbled to its final stop, leaving us in the deserted parking lot behind the campus center. Instead of walking towards our respective dorms we headed the opposite direction down the hill past the science buildings, the overwhelming smell of pine needles, up the hill towards Breckon, and walking, floating really, by the faculty housing. Would we go home together? Would we go to bed? She didn’t want to corrupt a minor, a freshwoman, in all her seniority, but my persistence, my insistence, the promise of being a good lover, the offering of my “virginity”, how could she resist, entangled in my hair, and words and devious plans, she came home with me that very night.

The blast of warmth hit us as we entered, and I pulled the curtain shut, closing the window hutch where just last week Pete and I had been kissing, me lost in his blue-eyed splendor, after he came to take me out on his new Kawasaki. Aria held me from behind, pulling me back to the urgency of the moment, her mouth more furious and fertile than before, we lay on the single bed, we slowly undressed each other, piece by piece, until there was nothing but sweaty skin against skin, her mouth on mine, and then trailing downward, focusing on my nipples, my fingers working madly, sliding in and out, and she drew herself up to where she rubbed against me, our sexes, awake and tingling, no penetration but the sensation of the wet grinding, rolling, laughing, she followed the trickle of sweet sweat down the valley between my breasts, past the vestiges of my umbilical cord, lower, her expert tongue probing, pulling, sucking in ways that no boy, not even Pete, had ever been able to do, I cried out in joy, ecstasy, rapture, I came again and again, we fell asleep, breasts together, hair mixing in liquid silkiness, forgetting ourselves in the world of men. The queen was mine. The camera pans wide, exposing girl parephernalia and artsy dorm decorations before the closing shot of naked girl bodies spent from hours of seductive sex, arms and legs intertwined.